


Onward Still

by kandinskys



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Path of Fire spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kandinskys/pseuds/kandinskys
Summary: As you always have and always will, you march into battle.An expansion on the Path of Fire chapter: The Departing.





	Onward Still

 

-=-=-=-

 

“How sad for you to die so far from home.”

 

Sorcha rolled onto her stomach. Pain exploded behind her eyes and in every limb and she cried out, tears slipping down her cheeks. She began to crawl, pulling herself forward, towards the center of the pillar, towards Balthazar. She couldn't come this close only to fail.

 

“Ah, the scion,” Balthazar said. “Come to defend her champion.”

 

Gripped by an icy fear, Sorcha raised her eyes to the sky.

 

Aurene was flying to them, Aurene was here. Sorcha tried to call out, to warn her, to send her away, but her vision blackened once more, and her next visions were only snapshots as she drifted in and out of consciousness. 

 

Aurene, clawing at Balthazar’s exposed head, her blue scales reflecting the sun. Balthazar throwing his sword at her and narrowly missing - but his molten chains hit their mark. Aurene, her face twisted in terror, captured within a molten prison. Balthazar, standing over Sorcha, grinning.

 

“And now, you die.” He bellowed, and raised his sword high into the sky.

 

Sorcha raised one hand, as if that could ever block the blow - she thought of Vlast in that moment, of him escaping his chains to leap in front of Balthazar’s death blow, sacrificing himself to save _her_ \- please, no, don’t let Aurene do the same, let Aurene live. Let Aurene succeed where others failed. Let her fly, let her soar, let her grow -

  
-=-=-=-  
  


You do not know who you are. You do not know why you are here. You know nothing. You glance at your hands, and see the green, plant-like skin that stretches across all of your body. A hand reaches up to the top of your head, and you trace the large leaves and the flower that make up your hair.

 

The world around you is strange and unfamiliar. The ground is covered in patches of grass, dirt, and stone, with strange, seemingly random bumps and hills spaced throughout. There’s a heavy mist, settled over it all. A path forms before you.

 

Cautiously, you step forward.

 

Your robes brush softly against your skin, and this feels familiar. You have the sense of having worn these vestments for a very, very long time - but you cannot be sure. You don’t know who you are. You don’t know what you are.

 

You meet Nenah, a girl with beautiful, puffy hair and a kind smile; and a prisoner, trapped in molten chains who proclaims himself a god. His anger is palpable when you do not know his name, but he is trapped, and you are here, and you are not afraid. Nenah takes your hand and leads you away, and softly, she explains.

 

The Domain of the Lost. You are a lost spirit, left without purpose and nameless at the feet of the Judge. He passes judgement on the dead and offers a final reward or a final punishment, and a quiet panic rises in your chest. “I don’t know who I am,” You say. “I don’t know where I should be.”

 

“That is why you must see him,” Nenah explains. “Come, spirit. Do not be afraid.”

 

You know nothing of yourself, and nothing of this other lost spirit, but you know she is kind. She is woman both soft and strong, and you wonder who she was before she was here. You follow.

 

The Judge stands tall and imposing, outfitted in dark robes and a hood with a mask. He looks at you and despite his hidden eyes, you know he is watching you, readying to pass his judgement.

 

“You must recover your name.” He explains. “Then, you must rediscover your purpose.”

 

You will have to fight, he says. Fight for your own name.

 

There are weapons - or things that can be used as such - and you search through those piles until something feels _right_. You pull a long, cracked staff from the pile, and the weight of it in your hands feels perfect. You twist, the staff working like an extension of your very self, and then you look to Nenah and head into the mists to look for the spirit with your name.

 

You vanquish the first foe: they must look like you at first, but as they’re defeated their guise dissipates and reveals their true form. You want to be angry - you still remember nothing, and this spirit was wearing your name - but they cower, afraid. They are just as lost as you.

 

“I still don’t remember.” You snap.

 

“Then others must have your name as well. That means it’s a prestigious one.” Nenah explains. “Come, let us find them.”

 

You do not care how famous your name might have been. There's a sense of urgency coursing in your veins.

 

A second spirit that looks like you darts past, and you give chase until they turn to face you. It is your body and your face and your name, but their fighting skills are strange and unfamiliar, and you best them quickly. The third spirit is even easier to defeat: you let your muscle memory work the magic, and then this foe, too dissipates into their true form.

 

Like a sudden, brash flame, a burst of light behind your eyes, you remember your name. You are Sorcha. A Wyld Hunt Valiant, an elementalist, a sylvari. Your life was filled with wonder and joy, but also with conflict and pain and underneath it all, the tireless determination to continue onwards.

 

You do not remember what you fought for or against, but in your frustration, Nenah is there.

 

“Next is your purpose,” Nenah says, her voice soft. “What drove you forward and ultimately, to your death. It is here, in the domain. You must find it.”

 

“How will I know it? How will I find it?” You ask.

 

“If you truly desire it, your purpose will find you.” Nenah says. “I’d start with the bird,” She says a bit of amusement in her voice, and you turn to see a bright, shimmery dove sitting on a branch nearby.

 

You are led through your own life: Fighting in the Dream alongside your friend Caithe, defeating the shadow of the dragon. Awakening in the Grove, and then your first explorations into the Caledon Forest. Meeting the Pale Tree. Learning more of Riannoc and Caladbolg and going with Caithe to avenge their fallen brother.

 

The bird continues and you follow, and as the bird shimmers and fades for a moment, a voice appears behind you.

 

“Nobody believed I had courage.” Tybalt says. “Not even me… and then you came along.”

 

A deep sorrow pools in your chest and tears form in your eyes and spill down your cheeks. You reach a hand out at the memory, and Tybalt is looking right at you, more serious than you have ever seen him.

 

“You trusted me then, my friend. I need you to trust me now. I can do this.” He says.

 

You shake your head, still reaching for him. You want to pull him out of this memory, but then the vision of Tybalt fades.  Distantly, as the bird shimmers alive once more, you hear Tybalt’s final words, a war cry to Zhaitan himself: _I won’t let you have them!_

 

The bird darts away, and you remain for a heartbeat more, the tears slipping down your face. And then you turn and follow your purpose.

 

The next bits of life the bird shows you are quick, ending sharply and starting the same.

 

Trahearne appears before you, and a sharp longing lodges itself in you. He is giving his speech as Pact Marshal. “Our victory at Fort Trinity will show the world that we can strike against the dragons!” He bellows, his voice carrying off into the mists of the Domain.

 

An Eye of Zhaitan, declaring you interlopers, proclaiming that you will all serve the undead elder dragon in death.

 

“We can assault Arah!” Trahearne declares, appearing once more. He is looking at the crowd, addressing them, but he gives a quick glance at you, a smile breaking across his face. “We can destroy the dragon’s infection before it claims us all.”

 

Then Rytlock. “We’ve driven him out of the sky!” He shouts.

 

The final cannon blast at Zhaitan, and the dragon plummeting into the ocean.

 

Caithe and Trahearne looking to you within Fort Trinity. “We have succeeded,” Caithe murmurs. “You have shown the way.”

 

Lion’s Arch: destroyed, with Scarlett Briar standing upon the wreckage. “Aren’t you even curious as to why I did it? All this chaos and destruction?” She says, a wicked smile splitting her face in half.

 

Kasmeer Meade, standing over a downed Marjory - “Make this count! End this! _Now_!” And you do - you leap forward and it is your attack that ends this all, it is your magic that strikes Scarlett down. You stand over her, and remember Ceara: a smart, bright-eyed sylvari.

 

“You think my death saves you?” Scarlett sneers, her voice shaky. “Too… late.”

 

Then the roar of Mordremoth, screaming within your own head: _The world is mine now_.

 

The bird flits away, and you follow.

 

The Master of Peace. Defeathing Mordremoth’s champion. Hunting down Caithe and the dragon egg she took with her. Delving into Caithe’s memories and uncovering the terrible secret about the sylvari. About her, about you.

 

The next memory is of Laranthir giving you and your friends the terrible news of the Pact fleet’s destruction. Logan, Zojja, Trahearne, Eir. All are lost deep within the jungle, in Mordremoth’s clutches, and your hands shake.

 

The image of Laranthir fades into a smaller sylvari soldier, clutching her side. “You hear it too, commander?” She asks, her entire body trembling.

 

You nod, and the soldier sighs in relief. “Then I can resist it,” She says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If Canach can. If you can. I know I will resist its voice.”

 

The soldier morphs into Braham, his face twisted with pain, his eyes on something behind you and you whirl on your heel to see Eir in the distance, the massive vinetooth bearing down upon her. And you remember this all: Braham’s scream, the sickening sound of the vinetooth’s tail slicing through Eir as if she was paper, the rush to reach the other branch where Eir lay, the fight with the vinetooth. Braham standing over his mother’s dead body, too much pain sitting in him to even process. And how could you take the time to process her death, with this war going on?

 

And then there’s Caithe, fleeing from a monstrous Faolan, and you picking up the egg and feeling the power of Glint’s legacy flow through you. You see Ruka, you hear her shouts, her instructions to protect the egg, to take it to Tarir, and Glint’s power courses through your veins and you wish you could have met this being with this much power and compassion.

 

Then you are looking at Trahearne: wrapped in vines, his face malformed by Mordremoth's corruption: but when he speaks, it is _his_ voice, not anyone else’s. He opens the bridge into the mind of the jungle dragon, and you take Canach and Caithe into the mind of their creator to destroy him from the inside out.

 

It succeeds, but at a terrible cost: all of this war has been a terrible cost, but Mordremoth’s final revenge is fleeing to Trahearne’s mind: planting a terrible seed deep within. But Trahearne felt it. He knew. And he told you, he begged you: take the sword, the legendary Caladbolg, and kill him with it. Quench the final piece of Mordremoth’s mind.

 

You look at Trahearne: one of your first friends. Your family. Forged in fire and war and the defeat of dragons, and your hands shake as you life the sword. You remember defending him tooth and nail as he cleansed Orr, calling lightning from above to strike down the risen. You think of sitting with him and Caithe by a fence in the Grove during those relaxing early days. You think of travelling though the Dream alongside him, getting a glimpse at potential futures. You think of all the things that this world still needs from Trahearne.

 

You grant him this final wish.

 

There is celebration: but you do not have time.

 

The last few memories also pass quickly: Rytlock talking about Dragon’s Watch. Taimi realizing that the elder dragons are necessary to the balance of the world. Braham’s fiery anger at the prospect of not killing dragons.

 

Aurene’s hatching.

 

The tiny blue head poking its way free from the shell, a beautiful, sapphire blue baby dragon blinking, taking its first gaze of a world that has been waiting for her.

 

“Aurene,” you say, in the memory and the moment both. “Her name is Aurene.”

 

And then Balthazar, walls of fire bursting into the air from behind him, and you are witnessing a memory but can still feel the heat rising from the flames. Balthazar looks directly at you, his eyes burning with the fires of every war, every conflict there has ever been, and you feel your purpose brimming within you.

 

You remember it all.

 

You have to go back.

 

You do not beg the judge. You demand this from him. He admits that he cannot return you: your life force is _here_ , not within your body, already starting to die at the top of the spire - if Balthazar didn’t burn your corpse to ashes. But he gives you an option: the Eater of Souls that formed when Joko and Balthazar came here as living beings and not spirits.

 

“If you fail, you face oblivion.” The Judge says. “I could offer no final reward or punishment.”

 

A tiny voice says _you can rest now. You have been fighting your entire life._

 

You do not second guess yourself. As you always have, you march into battle.

 

-=-=-=-


End file.
